Centurion's Rise (4 page)

Mark took a
moment to admire the view as he drove a rented Range Rover truck old enough to be the original over a bridge that spanned the Nile River and brought him onto Gezira Island.  The place in many ways reminded him of Manhattan Island in New York City.  It was in the center of a concrete jungle, yet separated from the rest by a river on all sides with only half a dozen bridges leading in and out of the posh district.

The headquarters for Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities was located on the island and he was finally granted an audience with the organization’s secretary general.  Knowing the meeting took over a week to arrange made Mark
seethe with frustration.  His credentials with the National Security Agency gave him an all access pass to anywhere and anyone in the United States, but this was Egypt.  Things worked differently here.

The delay wasn’t all bad since it gave him time to do his homework on Secretary General Hass.  Mark didn’t foresee any real difficulties getting the information he needed, but it never hurt to know what leverage points were available if push came to shove.

Mark pulled his car into the only visitor parking space left.  Before getting out of the vehicle he leaned forward in the seat and pulled a desert eagle pistol out from under his tan sport coat.  He chambered a round and verified the safety was off before concealing it once more. 

As he sat back in the seat again, Mark caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.  He refastened the ratty Texas Rangers baseball cap on his head that used to cover the scalp of NASA flight director Alfred Kranz.  Mark took the cap following the flight director's suicide to avoid interrogation as an uncomfortable reminder of his failure. 

Mark still remembered helplessly observing the deep space communication probe speed away from earth while broadcasting loud and clear the mathematical coordinates for Earth for anyone out there willing to listen.  The odds of actually reaching alien life were miniscule, but what if the hypothetical little green men weren't friendly?  Long odds or not, the probe posed an unacceptable national security risk and now it was out of his considerable reach.

Mark pulled out all the stops to scuttle the probe, yet somehow flight director Kranz always managed to stay one step ahead.  The coup de grace came when Mark realized the probe’s broadcast signal had been tampered with before leaving earth orbit.  Somehow the signal was amplified by a factor of five thousand, and the broadcast frequency changed to match that of a signal the NSA had been tracking since late 1947. 

That year mankind stumbled upon indisputable proof they were not alone in the universe.  An interstellar craft carrying four life forms crashed in Roswell New Mexico and brought with it the radiation frequency signature their technology used; creatively named Frequency Alpha.  A frenzied effort to survey the cosmos for Frequency Alpha came back with disturbing results.

Readings always disregarded as background radiation showed countless instances of Frequency Alpha originating near the galaxy core.  Those readings often accompanied a slightly higher reading; Frequency Beta.  The working theory was a hotly contested interstellar war was underway near the galaxy core; far, far away from earth.    

The news was buried of course and only two NSA field agents, the President, and his Scientific Advisor knew the whole truth of the matter.  Five or six others knew fragments of the truth, and the other seven billion human beings on earth remained delightfully clueless.

Panic struck the agency in 1951 when they discovered that a signal matching Frequency Beta was
emanating from earth, always occurring on the evening of a full moon, and never in the same location twice.  In all that time the transmission only deviated from this pattern on two occasions: three consecutive days in 1989, and sporadically over the last six weeks.

Flight director Kranz made the changes to the communication probe.  He had answers, but even when Mark trapped Alfred in his office Mark found he was still behind the curve since the flight director had already swallowed a cyanide tablet to end his life before any ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ were brought to bear.

Countless questions that could no longer be asked of the dead NASA flight director jabbed the back of Mark’s mind like a rusty nail.  The only remedy was to continue the quest for answers down any avenues still available.  In a shredded recycle bin Mark found the flight director’s travel itinerary and was now following up on his meeting schedule.

The bite of
a pistol hilt against his back brought his mind back to the present and he moved to exit the vehicle.  Before standing up he grabbed a short stack of manila folders from the passenger seat then shut the truck door behind him.  It never hurt to carry multiple loaded weapons into an unknown situation he thought while making his way to the front door.

At the reception desk, Mark was greeted by a balding heavy set man in his late fifties who wore a suit that probably cost more than his annual salary.  The antiquities business has been good to you, Mark thought as he greeted the man with a stiff handshake.

“Dr. Hass, it’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” Mark said with all the acquiescence he could muster.  The thought of the week long delay was at the front of his mind as he forced a smile and said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

The Secretary General released the handshake and guided Mark toward a bank of elevators.  “I regret we could not meet sooner.  One of our directors turned up missing at a dig site last week and the situation has demanded the organization’s full attention.”

The two men boarded an elevator car one quarter the size Mark was expecting inside; the two men barely managed to squeeze in.  “Could you press level nine please,” the doctor asked of Mark.

“Apparently three American
citizens also vanished from the same dig site,” Mark said as the elevator began its agonizingly slow ascent.  Dr. Hass was apparently unaware how useful underarm deodorant could be for personal hygiene.  Mark took short breaths that did not involve any intake through his nose as he continued.  “My government would like to know if there is anything we can do to assist.”

“We appreciate your generous offer, but I don’t think it is required at this time,” Dr. Hass said dismissively.  “We have everyone looking into this.”

The elevator doors opened and Mark hastily burst through the opening to take a long deep breath of fresh air.  All too soon the aroma of Dr. Hass joined him in the narrow hallway and led them both to the right toward an office at the end.

Mark was not about to take no for an answer.  “I have all the respect in the world for the archeological skills of your organization, but when it comes to criminal activity I fear you are entirely out of your element.”

“Criminal activity,” the Dr. Hess repeated and came to a full stop and turned to face Mark just outside the office door.  “What makes you think that is a possibility?”

Mark leveled an expression of disbelief at how naïve the good doctor must be to ask such a question.  “Four individuals looking for ancient artifacts around the Great Pyramids and Sphinx might have drawn the attention of people with less than honorable intentions don’t you think?  Particularly if they managed to find something of value.”

“I see your point,” Dr. Hass mumbled as he entered the office and shut the door behind them.  Mark took a look around the uncomfortably cramped room and immediately moved to open a set of windows on the far side of the desk.  Otherwise he was not sure he could remain conscious in the enclosed room and the offending odor of Dr. Hass.

“How do you know what they were working on?” Dr. Hass asked as he took a seat at his desk and gestured for Mark to join him on the other side.

“I don’t, and that’s the problem,” Mark responded with a hint of accusation behind his words.  “I know where they were last seen and that they pulled a dig permit with your organization.  I would like a copy of the permit paperwork so I can have more specifics on the matter, just in case nefarious elements are in play.”

“I’m afraid those documents are confidential,” Dr. Hass declared in no uncertain terms.  “All archeological digs and research writings are run through this organization exclusively in ord
er to minimize the opportunity for illegal activities.  Imagine if all the permits became public records.  The grave robbers would know all the most likely locations to hit, or the specific individuals to follow or abduct in order to get what they are after.”

“A moment ago you dismissed illegal activity as a possibility in this case,” Mark pointed out.  “Now you use it as a defense not to share information with the United States government to help ascertain the whereabouts of three of her citizens.  That strikes me as . . . convenient.”

That comment must have sent Dr. Hass’ blood pressure through the roof as his face developed a distinctly red hue.  “The permits are not shared with anyone outside the SCA.  That is how we guarantee the safety of the applicants and the integrity of our great and ancient heritage.”

Mark tossed the first of three manila folders he carried onto the desk facing the good doctor and indicated he should have a look.  Dr. Hass’ eyes
nearly popped out of his skull when he opened the folder and saw an application and detailed site diagrams of the likely burial chamber for Cleopatra and Mark Antony.  “This application was submitted and denied last year.  While I waited for this meeting I paid the proposed dig site a visit.  Care to hazard a guess as to what I found?”

The stone silence
let Mark know he was pulling the correct lever with this man.  “I found a thoroughly excavated site, but a completely barren tomb.”  A dismissive smile crossed the lips of Dr. Hass until Mark slapped a second manila folder down on the desk to reveal pictures of artifacts sold on the black market over the prior year.  The smile vanished with great haste.

“Would you look at what came up in the underground auction world this past year,” Mark mused.  “Why its genuine gold coins stamped with Cleopatra’s bust and seal along with Mark Antony’s suit of armor, sword, and the list goes on and on.  What are the odds?”

“It would appear someone has a backdoor key to our records,” Dr. Hass stammered.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mark fired back and punctuated his declaration by slapping the last manila folder down on the desk.  “Your Cayman Islands bank account has done quite well as of late, Doctor.  The marked increases just happen to coincide around the sale dates of these artifacts on the black market.”

Dr. Hass let loose a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan and then moved to pick up his phone.  “I don’t have to sit here and listen to these accusations.  Security will show you out.”

Mark lurched forward and depressed the disconnect lever while leveling
an accusing index finger at the good doctor’s chest.  “You can take the hard way of course, but there are two things you need to know about me.  I am well connected, I always get what I want, and I never play fair.”

“That’s three things,” Dr Hass observed smugly.

“See, not playing fair already,” Mark beamed with his accusing finger transitioning to an open palm.  “I don’t give a damn how many of these ancient trinkets you sell for your own account.  I want the application for this specific dig.  Hand them over and those three folders disappear forever.  If you make that phone call, my colleague back home will put them on the front page of every news publication on the planet before I even leave this office.”

Mark pulled his finger off the phone, “You have five seconds to make up your mind.”  Four seconds later Mark left Dr. Hass’ office with the application in one hand and a cell phone in the other placing an urgent call.

Professor Brian Russell
woke to the sound of a cellular phone playing the Bee Gees song
Stayin’ Alive
as a ringtone.  He blinked a few times to bring his eyes into focus.  For an instant he envisioned himself once again standing out in the sands of Egypt admiring the Sphinx and wondering if a chamber was hidden in the monolith’s body.

When his eyes finally focused on the seamless metal walls and the iron bars separating him from his two captors, Brian realized he already knew the answer.  There was a hidden chamber, and he had a very good view of it at the moment. 

Dominating the center of the ten foot by thirty foot room housed inside the Sphinx was a polished metal cube with a neon blue sphere floating a half inch above.  Protruding from one end of the cube was an eight foot long object that could only be described as a glass covered coffin.  The rest of the chamber was lined with sophisticated electronics equipment, dual monitor work stations, storage lockers and a small work table off in the far corner.

The thought of his captors firing up their machinery, harnessing a bolt of lightning and crying out ‘It’s alive, it’s alive’ when a Frankensteinesque creation stepped out of the glass coffin allowed him a brief smile.  A look to his left into the anxious eyes of his research assistant, Alex, made the corners of his mouth return to their pensive state.

“That’s never happened before,” Alex whispered.  “They’ve made hundreds of phones calls out since taking us captive, but never received one.”

Professor Russell nodded in agreement and then looked to the other side of the captivity cage to meet the intent gaze of Frank Graves.  Up until their imprisonment, he knew Frank to be a washed up, foul mouthed helicopter pilot.  Brian now knew the man was a very convincing undercover agent for the NSA
on assignment to keep tabs on their efforts to discover previously hidden chambers inside the Great Pyramids and Sphinx. 

The research project
was a resounding success with the discovery of four chambers in the Pyramid of Khufu and another inside the Sphinx.  Sharing in that great discovery was an observer from the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities, Dr. Andre.  Brian considered the man a trusted friend right up to the moment Dr. Andre took them all captive inside the Sphinx’s hidden chamber, presumably to keep the discovery secret.  The man still remained oddly cordial, but the forceful kidnapping definitely put a damper on the relationship from the professor’s perspective.

Brian
was about to speak when Frank snapped an index finger to his lips to let him know silence was golden at the moment.  Collectively the three captives focused their senses on the one side of the unique phone conversation they were privy to hear.

“
You are saying an American came to the Secretary General’s office this morning,” Dr. Andre repeated.  “What did he look like?”

Professor Russell heard a male voice chatterin
g a response on the phone but couldn’t make out the words.  He definitely liked the sound of an American visiting the SCA head office though.  Perhaps Frank’s NSA colleagues were finally getting around to investigating their disappearance.  After all, three people missing from a registered dig site at the Great Pyramid was bound to get noticed eventually.

“Right, did he have on a baseball cap . . . yah, an old beat up Texas Rangers hat . . . perfect,”  Dr. Andre said without emotion.  “And he left with the paperwork? . . . Excellent.  Thank you.”

Dr. Andre snapped the phone shut and tossed it to his partner, a relatively young man in his late thirties.  “He has picked up the scent.  It is only a matter of time before he will be knocking at our door with his cap in hand.”

“About time,” the other grunted.

“I’ll say,” Frank barked from the corner.  “Seven days now I’ve stomached your crappy food and these cramped quarters.  Now that Mark is in town you two had best move on.  I’d hate to see either of you get hurt playing with the big boys.”

“You grew up in Texas if I am not mistaken, Mr. Graves,” Dr. Andre responded.  “I believe your brethren have a saying I find quite appropriate for this occasion.  ‘You are all hat and no cattle’.”

“We are the NSA, you have no idea what our resources can do,” Frank declared. 

“Oh n
o Mr. Graves, it is you who suffer from a lack of knowledge,” Dr. Andre fired back.  “Fear not though, enlightenment will be yours soon enough.”

Professor Russell wanted to slap Frank upside the head for antagonizing their captors.  Given the advanced technology they witnessed protecting the hidden chamber, the professor was not eager to see any more.